I looked at the signature line.
Connor James Bradley.
"That's not my handwriting," I said.
"No," Harlow said.
"It isn't.
Whoever did this had access to your personal documents.
Enough to copy your middle name, your full address, your mortgage reference number." He tapped the page.
"This wasn't put together in a week.
Someone planned this for a long time."
Amy's hand found mine under the table.
"Uncle R," I said.
"Mason had a message on his phone.
Someone called Uncle R asking if it was done.
If she had signed."
Harlow nodded slowly.
"We pulled the number.
It's registered to a Richard Calloway.
Mean anything to you?"
It didn't.
Then it did.
My father's older brother.
A man I had met exactly twice as a child.
A man my mother had always spoken about in a low, careful voice — the kind of voice people use when they don't want to say the real thing out loud.
"My uncle," I said.
"My father's brother.
I didn't even know he was still in contact with my mother."
"According to your cousin Mason, they've been in contact for about two years." Harlow leaned back.
"Mason says Richard approached your mother with the plan.
He told her the house was originally supposed to be left to your father — and that when your father d*ed, it should have passed to her."
"That's not true," I said.
"I bought that house myself.
I have the mortgage.
I have every payment record."
"We know.
But Richard told your mother something different.
He told her she had a legal claim.
That all she needed was your signature on a transfer document — or a convincing copy of it."
Amy spoke for the first time since we'd sat down.
"That's why she kept sending me to the bank," she said quietly.
"She told me Connor wanted me to handle some paperwork.
She said it was routine.
She put documents in front of me three times." She paused.
"I didn't sign any of them.
Something felt wrong.
So I just — I kept saying I'd forgotten my ID."
Harlow looked at her.
"That was the right call, Mrs.
Bradley."
"She got angry every time," Amy said.
"She told me I was useless.
That a real wife would support her husband's family without asking questions." Her voice didn't waver, but her grip on my hand tightened.
"I didn't know what the documents were.
I just knew I shouldn't sign them."
I thought about those three thousand dollars every month.
Twelve months.